


Happy Father's Day

by SilverMoon53



Series: Silver's Summer '18 Fic-a-thon [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Father's Day, Gen, His father isn't actually in it, Pre-Canon, Verbal Abuse, it's referenced and it's canon so be careful, none of which directly happens (I think) but like, takes place on the first Father's Day after his dad leaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 14:57:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14956800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMoon53/pseuds/SilverMoon53
Summary: Leopold Fitz has always had a complicated relationship with Father’s Day. In the past, nothing he did was ever good enough. Now, he didn’t have a father.He was still getting used to that.





	Happy Father's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Um, happy Father's Day?
> 
> Warning for Alistair Fitz and all the bad things that go with him.

Leopold James Fitz didn’t like his name. 

His first name, felt too formal in the ten year old’s small mouth. The shortened form, Leo, would have been good, if not for his Father and the harsh words that always seemed to follow.

_“You need to toughen up, Leo.”_

_“Is that the best you can do, Leo?”_

_“I expected better from my son, Leo.”_

_“I’m leaving, Leo, and I won’t be coming back. Are you coming with me or not?”_

The last one had been, as far as the boy could tell, completely without warning. His Father had simply walked in one late May night, roughly shaken him awake and said the words. Too stunned to form words, he had simply shaken his head. His Father had scoffed harshly before leaving the room.

He had been gone by morning.

So, no. Leo was not a good name for him. 

He had considered going by the second half of his first name, Pold, tried calling himself “The Pold” like a superhero but it sounded too close to “cold” and he had had quite enough of that from his Father, thank you very much. 

He could have been James, but there was already a popular boy named James in his school, and there was no way he could compete. 

Which only left Fitz.

He didn’t like Fitz, not really. It was his Father’s name, and therefor tainted. But his mum’s last name was too long and hard for the other kids to pronounce, and they gave him a hard enough time at school anyway that he didn’t want to give them anything else to use against him, even though he knew he wouldn’t be staying in the school long. It was a private school his Father had been paying for. He was to finish the year, but be moved to public school until he graduated.

His mum couldn’t afford it on her own, and he was quite sure his Father wouldn’t be paying any longer.

But that was a plus to the whole ordeal. Public school meant clubs, and he could start looking into things that actually interested him, like electronics and computers and robots and do things like that for fun instead of doing it in doomed attempts to please his Father. 

That was a plus to the name Fitz, too. It sounded like the noise wires made when electrons jumped across them, fzzt. Most professionals went by their last names, too, and he wanted to be a rocket scientist, maybe be the next Tony Stark or join SHIELD. 

And if some small, tiny part of him hoped that keeping his Father’s name would mean that his Father could find him again if he changed his mind and came back, well, would it be so bad to hope?

***

It was Friday, June 19th. Four weeks to the day since his Father had left him, three weeks since he had started going to school again, approximately one week since he had started going by Fitz, and two months - also to the day - until his 11th birthday. 

His mum had kept him home for the first week, the two of them trying to figure out what to do. She had insisted over and over that this was not his fault, that they would be okay. He believed her, the way only a child can, but still fretted and worried and ended up taking apart the tv just to do something with his hands and his mum had put him back in school after that. 

But that had been weeks ago and today was Friday. Fitz had almost gotten used to the way the house seemed to echo, stopped trying to still his anxious hands whenever someone was near, stopped jumping every time he heard a car door close. 

He had stopped hoping his Father would come home again.

Almost.

Kind of.

Is hope really such a bad thing?

It was the last class of the day and the teacher was running late. It wasn’t unusual for her to do so. Ms F. was an odd sort of woman, with an unusual way of teaching her class. 

Fitz’s Father hadn’t like her, had told Fitz that a woman has no place teaching, let alone a woman who can’t be bothered to show up on time (he had always cast a dark glare at his wife at that, one Fitz didn’t understand but didn’t like). He hadn’t liked her subject either, calling art a waste of time and other such things. 

So Fitz - Leo, back then - had disliked art as well and not paid much attention. He would bring gizmos and gadgets into the art room and tinker with them instead. The teacher was kind enough to let him do his own thing, even going so far as to let him make a robot for one of his big projects. 

He sat near the back of the room on that Friday, ignoring his classmates as fully as they ignored him. They seemed louder than usual, or maybe Fitz was just quieter than usual, but either way the silence that followed Ms F.’s entrance stood out more than usual, the contrast enough to pull Fitz from the cell phone he had been taking apart. 

“Alright, class, I have a special project for you all today,” she said cheerfully once she had everyone’s attention. “As I’m sure you all know, this Sunday is a very special day. Who can tell me what day it is?” 

She started to look around the room, but Fitz had already lost interest. He had never been good with dates, and he had almost figured out how the wiring worked and-

“Father’s Day!”

He wasn’t sure who had said it, but it didn’t really matter. The words had cut through him like a knife, freezing him in place. 

“That’s right!” Ms F. trilled. “So today, we’re all going to make cards for our fathers, to show them how much we love and care about them. Come on up, everyone, there’s plenty of paper and markers.” She moved to the side as students rushed up around her, scrambling to get the best colours and paper. 

Fitz stayed put, but he usually did so the teacher didn’t seem to notice. Only once everyone had returned to their seats did he stand and slowly make his way to the supply table. He ran his hand along the construction paper, thinking hard.

Maybe, maybe this was a test. His Father tested him like this often, though never to this extent. Maybe Fitz just had to prove his worth, then his Father would come back home. Sure, he wasn’t always the nicest, but it was just because he cared about Fitz, right?

It was a test, and one Fitz was determined to pass.

Mind made up, he grabbed paper and markers. He skipped the glitter and funfoam shapes, knowing his Father wouldn’t approve of such frivolities, and headed back to his seat. 

There, he took great care in folding the paper exactly right, keeping his hands steady and moving slowly like his Father had taught him. It took him three tries to get the edges lined up perfectly, and he had to stop for a moment after the second failed attempt to stop himself from crying. He could hear his Father’s harsh words in his ear as though he was right there.

_“Hurry up, boy, can’t you go any faster?”_

_“Don’t cry now, Leo, that’s something only weak woman do. Are you a weak little girl, Leo, or are you a man?”_

Finally, he got it right, but the hard part was just starting. 

Fitz wasn’t sure what to write in the card itself, and his hands were shaking too hard for the neat handwriting his Father insisted on. He took his two failed attempts at folding and decided to practice what he wanted to write on them, to figure out the size and positioning of his letters.

“Happy Father’s Day” was the obvious start, so he painstakingly wrote it out on the front of the card. He made sure it took the whole front, because his Father didn’t approve of wasted space. 

What to write on the inside, though?

His Father didn’t approve of foolish sentiment, either, so the classic “I love you” was out. They didn’t spend much time together, so there were no hobbies to draw. His Father didn’t fish, or hunt, or any other typical father stuff. Not that it mattered, because Fitz didn’t have much artistic ability. 

In the end, he settled on a few short sentences. It left a lot of empty space, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. Fitz spent the rest of the class carefully writing out his message.

_I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough._

_I’ll work harder, and make you proud._

_Please come home,_

_Leo_

He knew that his Father wouldn’t like the begging, would call it weak and childish, but it was better than daring to tell his Father to come home. 

And maybe this was one of the times when asking for something would be okay? Another part of the lesson, perhaps?

And really, was it so wrong of Fitz to hope that it would work?

***

His mum wasn’t home when he got there.

He hadn’t expected her to be. She had been out most days from dawn until dusk since his Father had left, sorting out paperwork and looking for a job and other grown-up things that Fitz didn’t understand. 

The house seemed empty without her. She had been a housewife before, always home when Fitz got back from school, always ready to talk to him about his day and what he learned. 

At least his Father being out was normal. He had hardly ever been home, always working hard to support his family. 

There was a note on the fridge from his mum. An apology, saying she wouldn’t be back until late and to not wait up for her, followed by instructions on how to heat up leftovers in the fridge.

Fitz did his homework and ate his dinner, all the while thinking about how proud his Father would be that Fitz had passed his test.

He dreamed of his Father smiling at him.

***

His mom had made waffles for breakfast when Fitz woke in the morning. He ran downstairs to tell her about how this was all a test, that Father would come home as soon as he got Fitz’s card, he just needed to mail it. His mum’s frown grew as he spoke until she cut him off.

“He didn’t give me an address,” she told him. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but we can’t mail it to him.” 

“Oh,” Fitz said after a few moments of stunned silence. “Oh.” His happiness evaporated, his excitement suddenly feeling like foolishly empty hope. Then he perked up slightly. “That must be part of the test,” he told his mum. 

She smiled sadly and ruffled his hair, and they ate the rest of the meal in silence.

***

It wasn’t until the next morning, Father’s Day, that Fitz thought of the solution. 

The answer was so obvious, Fitz was surprised it had taken him so long to figure out. If he couldn’t send the card to his Father, he would have to bring it to him himself. He knew where his Father worked, he had been taken once for “take your child to work day.”

That had been one of Fitz’s favorite days. His Father had gone the whole day without saying a single bad thing about him, had seemed genuinely proud to call him his son. Fitz still held the memory close to his heart, the warmth of his Father’s praise lasting even longer than the cold burn of his disappointment. 

Fitz found his GPS and punched in the address. He packed himself a snack and a water bottle, because he wasn’t sure how long it would take him, and carefully tucked the card in a clipboard so it wouldn’t get crinkled. He told his mum that he was going out, but didn’t specify where. She trusted him enough to let him roam the city alone, something he had done many times before. 

Satisfied, Fitz headed off to his Father’s office. 

***

“Excuse me, sir? Is Alistair Fitz in today?” Leo - he had decided to go by Leo again, sure that this was a test and his Father would be coming home by the end of the day - looked up at the receptionist, a stern-looking man who seemed to sneer down at him. He hadn’t acknowledged Leo when he first walked in, so Leo had been forced to approach him and ask his question. 

“He is,” the receptionist replied, voice short and sharp. He said nothing else and Leo resisted the urge to squirm under his cold gaze.

“Would you be able to give him something for me, please?” he asked after several uncomfortable moments. 

“Mr Fitz is a very busy man,” the receptionist began, but Leo cut him off.

“It’s a Father’s Day gift. Please?”

The receptionist signed and held up a finger. He turned to the phone on his desk and picked it up. Leo didn’t listen to what he said, excitement and nerves building up inside of him. He bounced on his feet anxiously, fighting the urge to shake his hands out. The receptionist hung up and Leo held up the card for him to take.

The receptionist pushed it back. 

“He said he doesn’t have a son.” The words shocked Leo to his core, the uninterested look on the receptionist’s face echoed in his bored tone. “So if you have nothing else to do here, I’d suggest you run along.” 

Fitz turned and ran, clutching the card to his chest. 

***

His mum was still home when he got back. She was cleaning, like she did every Sunday, and the normalcy of it started his tears again. She turned to greet him and immediately wrapped him in a tight hug. 

“Oh, honey, it’s okay. Shhh, shhhh,” she soothed him. Fitz struggled to form words but they wouldn’t come out. He was still wrapped protectively around the card, holding it tight to chest and out of reach of his tears. 

“I-I t-t-tried to give F-Father his card,” he sobbed after a few minutes, finally able to force the words out. “I went all the w-way to his office, and talked to the, the receptionist, and he said that Father said that, that he doesn’t have a son!” 

He felt his mum inhale sharply and hold him tighter. She tugged him to the couch and sat down with him, saying nothing.

There was nothing for her to say. 

They stayed like that until Fitz cried himself out, then he showed her his card and cried some more. She offered to take it from him, to deal with the card so he wouldn’t have to, but Fitz insisted on keeping it safe. 

“What if Father comes home one day, and I don’t have a card for him?” Fitz asked. He shook his head. “I have to keep it, just in case.” 

His mum looked like she had more she wanted to say, but she let it be, which Fitz was grateful for. He ran up to his room and tucked the card between a few books on his bookshelf, where he could find it but it wouldn’t get damaged. When he came back down, his mum had pulled out one of his tool kits and an unfinished project. 

It was the last one he had started with his Father. 

“I know that I’m your mum, and that I don’t understand most of this stuff,” she started as she pulled him into another tight hug. “But would you like to work on this together? Just the two of us?” 

Fitz returned the hug and nodded. 

Working with his mum was much different than working with his Father. She didn’t understand most of what needed to be done, and Fitz spent more time trying to teach her than actually working on the project. But she only had kind words for him, and didn’t get mad when he made a mistake or talked too much. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to snap at him like his Father always did, but she didn’t. 

Maybe, he decided, it would be okay. He still missed his Father, still felt like if he had been better, then his Father wouldn’t have left. He still felt guilty and scared and all sorts of bad things like that, but maybe it would be okay.

He would get through this, Fitz and his mum. 

And he would keep the card, just in case his Father came back.

**Author's Note:**

> Writeblr blog: @silverssideblog  
> Discord: cloudcover#7167  
> Feel free to drop by and make a request or just say hi!


End file.
